Marcus Bright put a hand on his shoulder for a moment. ‘Well, if you have to be interrogated by the police, Edmund, these lovely ladies don’t look too intimidating, do they?’
Paula glanced at Sarah and bit back a tart response. Tread carefully, she told herself.
‘I don’t know if you remember me, Edmund,’ she said. ‘I spoke to you the day your sister died.’
A smile of immense charm lit up his face. ‘I remember you very well, DS Powell,’ he said. ‘You were very professional and very kind.’
Oddly flustered, Paula could think of no response to this. ‘And Sarah Shepherd you know, of course,’ she went on hastily.
‘Of course.’
‘I know Sarah has told you that we believe your sister’s death was not accidental, and so we are trying to establish who had access to the house, who knew the family’s habits and routines. And that’s what I need to talk to you about. You’re a weekly boarder here, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that means you go home every weekend?’
‘Well, normally, yes.’ He glanced at Marcus Bright. ‘Not at the moment, obviously, because I don’t have a home until you’ve finished with it.’
‘Yes, quite. Do you ever invite friends home with you at the weekend?’
‘Yes. When they could get exeats.’
‘Exeats?’
‘Permission from me,’ Marcus Bright put in.
‘Could you give me a list of the boys you’ve invited? I’d like all their names – even if they only came once.’ She tore a page from her notebook and passed it across to him with a pen.
Marcus Bright seemed about to protest but she said firmly, ‘We shall need to talk to all of them – with you present, of course, Mr Bright.’
As Edmund started to write, she went over to Sarah Shepherd and, after a murmured conversation, returned to her seat. ‘Do you ever lend your golf clubs to friends, Edmund?’ she asked.
He looked up. ‘My golf clubs?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry – this will be upsetting for you – but it is likely that one of your clubs was used to attack Marina.’
His head dropped and he gave a short groan, as though he had been punched. ‘Hell,’ he said.
‘So we obviously want to check any fingerprints we find on them.’
‘Yes.’ He looked up. ‘Well, up to last term I played golf on sports afternoon – Wednesdays – and no-one used them except me. Then last term I switched to fencing and I let a couple of guys borrow my clubs because they wanted to have a go at golf.’
‘Could you write their names down too?’
Edmund glanced again at Marcus Bright, who nodded minimally.
‘And has anyone used them since last term?’ Paula asked.
‘Well I played a bit during the summer vac, but I don’t remember anyone else using them.’
‘And you didn’t bring them back to school at all this term?’
‘No. I’m sticking with fencing. My mother regards it as an essential accomplishment.’
‘Are you planning to go on the stage?’
‘No.’ Again the smile flashed for a moment. ‘I’m planning to make a bit of money.’
He completed his list of half a dozen names and handed it to Marcus Bright, who glanced at it briefly and passed it on to Paula.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Can you tell us about anyone else who was a regular visitor to the house? Friends of your parents? Friends of Marina’s?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, I’m not there much, obviously. You’ll know already about the wonderful Renée, who keeps the place afloat. Otherwise, the parents are pretty much recluses to be honest. Mamma has enough of the world when she’s up in London, I think. At home she wants peace and quiet.’
‘I understand she has some friends at the Aphra Behn Theatre?’
He looked vague for a moment. ‘Oh, they just store some of their stuff in our stables. I don’t think you’d call them friends.’
‘But they are sometimes in the house?’
‘Maybe. I’ve never seen them there.’
‘And what about Marina? Did she invite friends home?’
He shook his head. ‘Never when I was there. But she may have done, I suppose.’
‘Did you notice any change in Marina in recent weeks? Did she seem worried about anything?’
‘I didn’t notice anything.’
‘Would you say you and your sister were close, Edmund?’
He shrugged again. ‘We were when we were younger. We went through some difficult times together. But now, you know, four years is a big age gap, and different sexes, different schools – we were very different people.’ He looked at her and his blue eyes seem to darken as he said. ‘That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her. She was my only sibling. I’m an only child now.’
When Scott picked her up in the afternoon she relayed the results of the interview to him. ‘Not a lot really. The list of names of boys who went to he house might be useful – and the ones who used the clubs.’
‘Except that it’s pretty certain the killer used gloves,’ Scott said.
‘Yes. He seems a nice lad. Grown up for his age. I guess he’s needed to be with parents like that.’
They drove in silence as Scott negotiated his way out of the town. Then, as they sat on the motorway, he said, ‘I can’t imagine you reading ballet stories,’
She laughed. ‘I thought I wanted to be a dancer for a while.’
‘What changed your mind?’
‘I didn’t have enough commitment. I didn’t want ballet to take over my life.’
‘So you became a police officer, because that doesn’t mess up your life at all.’
‘I discovered I liked commitment. Did you always want to be a cop?’
‘I thought I wanted to be an archaeologist.’
‘And why did you change your mind?’
‘I thought I’d prefer live mysteries to dead ones.’
Paula said, ‘She couldn’t actually have done it – the understudy – you know that, don’t you? She must have been at the theatre. She was playing Amy.’
‘She’d have needed an accomplice, certainly, but she could have made the phone call. Who better to imitate Glenys Summers than her understudy? I’d like to show a photo of her to the guy in the post office at Lower Shepton. See if it resembles the woman in the phone box.’
‘But isn’t killing her a bit extreme? After all, the sprained ankle was enough to provide her moment of glory.’
‘I know. Maybe she thought the ankle wouldn’t keep her off the stage for long enough. Maybe her accomplice had another go – trying for a more serious accident.’
‘Then why hit Marina over the head?’
‘Because she saw him – or her? Even maybe recognised them?’
‘It’s a bit off the wall, isn’t it? I’m still happier with the interrupted burglary scenario. I know they expected that Glenys would be there, but they’d have thought they could deal with her – she was incapacitated with her ankle, after all. What they didn’t want was two women there, one of them young and able-bodied.’
‘I know this is a long shot, but let’s just talk to her, see what kind of vibes we get.’
They parked the car and were approaching the theatre just as the audience started streaming out from the matinee. Heading for the stage door through a pressing throng of fans, Scott turned to make sure that Paula was still behind him and saw Gina Gray, of all people, staring at him from the edge of the crowd. What the hell was she doing here? She’d started waving but he was damned if he would acknowledge her. She had no business anywhere near this investigation and he wasn’t giving her any leeway. Keeping his face a perfect blank, he pulled Paula towards him and pushed through to the stage door. As they followed the stage door keeper’s directions to the star dressing room, he was thinking furiously. Gina wasn’t stalking him, was she? No. She didn’t drive so she couldn’t have tailed him up the motorway. It was no coincidence though, her being here, tod
ay. She was trying to muscle in.
The dressing room, which still said Miss Glenys Summers on the door, was empty when they got there, which gave them a chance to look around. Justine Todd had obviously moved Glenys’s personal belongings to one end of the mirrored bench that ran down one side of the room. They didn’t amount to much: a few first night telegrams and congratulations cards, a make-up box, some bottles of mineral water. No photos of the family, he noticed, and no furry mascots. The things looked practical, workmanlike; they fitted the composed, clear-eyed woman he’d met better than her fragile, troubled, unpredictable public image.
Justine Todd appeared at the open door clutching an armful of bouquets, smiling and breathless. She stopped in the doorway, composing herself. ‘You’re the policeman who telephoned, I suppose,’ she said.
‘DCI David Scott.’
‘DS Paula Powell.’
Scott wasn’t a performer himself but he had stage managed a couple of shows at university and he knew the buzz actors felt after a performance. For this girl, the buzz must be immense, he realised, and he was sorry to put a damper on it. ‘It’s very good of you to see us,’ he said. ‘I’ll try not to keep you long. I know you’ve got another performance to get ready for.’
She off-loaded her flowers into the basin in the corner, pulled off her wig to reveal short dark curls and said, ‘Actually, would you mind going outside for a minute? I need to get out of this costume.’
As they were leaving the room, a middle-aged woman came bustling along the corridor. She threw them a disapproving glance and said, as she went in, ‘I’ll get you out of that dress, Justine. There’s a bit of a tear near the hem. I’ll take it and get it fixed.’ She closed the door firmly and emerged five minutes later with an armful of scarlet silk.
Back in the dressing room, Justine Todd was wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt, and cleaning off her makeup. She watched them through the mirror. ‘Do sit down,’ she said, still with her back to them. ‘I’m happy to help if I can, but I have to tell you I’ve never met Glenys’s daughter – I didn’t even know she had a daughter, actually – so I’m not sure how I can help.’
Scott sat and waited for her to turn round. ‘How much do you know about what happened to Marina Carson?’ he asked.
‘I know she fell down the stairs at home, and the papers are saying it may not have been an accident. That’s about all.’
‘You’ll understand, then, that we’re interested in the coincidence of that fall and Miss Summers’ fall the day before, and what happens in this show.’
‘Well, yes, I can see that but –‘
She had picked up a pile of unopened cards and was shuffling them in her hands, looking at the envelopes as she spoke.
‘We’re pursuing a number of lines of inquiry, and one of them is the possibility that Marina Carson might have been attacked in mistake for her mother,’ Scott said.
‘You mean someone wanted to kill Glenys?’ Her eyes were wide and ingenuous. He could hear no hint of falseness in her tone, but dealing with actors made life complicated.
‘It’s possible. A fan with an obsession, for example. We’re trying to get a picture of her life here, doing the show, and we don’t want to question her more than necessary, in the circumstances.’
‘I honestly don’t know if I can be much help. I really hardly saw her.’
‘You didn’t discuss the part together?’ Powell asked. ‘After all, you were her understudy.’
Justine Todd gave a hoot of laughter with a surprisingly hard edge to it. ‘You must be joking! Glenys was very much the star and I was very much the nobody. She wasn’t going to discuss the part with me.’
‘You had to be at the theatre every night, presumably?’ Scott asked. ‘Where did you spend the time while the show was on?’
‘Oh I usually play a walk-on – one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. I’m down in the dressing room with the others.’
‘So you didn’t see Glenys during the show?’
‘No.’
‘You must have watched her rehearsing,’ Powell said. ‘What’s she like?’
Justine Todd stood up. ‘Look, I really don’t feel comfortable talking about her. I can’t see that it’s relevant and I –‘
‘Have you ever been to her home – near Marlbury?
‘Once. She invited us all down soon after we opened – a Sunday barbecue in the garden. It was very nice.’
‘You said you’d never met her daughter? Wasn’t she there?’
‘Well, I suppose she may have been, but I wasn’t introduced to her. I think Glenys’s son was there.’
‘Can you tell me where you were at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning?’ Scott asked.
‘Wednesday? Yes, I can. I’d played Amy for the first time the night before and some friends came round and took me out to a champagne breakfast. Why?’
‘Could you give DS Powell the names and addresses of those friends?’
‘Why? What do you think I’ve done?’
‘Nothing. We’d just like to eliminate you –‘
‘– from your inquiries. I watch murder mysteries on TV, Chief Inspector. I know what that means.’
She sat down and looked from one of them to the other. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I don’t pretend I like Glenys – and I’m not sure anyone does – but we don’t hate her and we feel terrible about what’s happened to her daughter. I feel bad that it’s given me my big break – I really do – but not that bad because that’s how it is and you have to take your breaks where you can get them. And if I’d wanted to push Glenys down the stairs so I could have her part, I’d have done it right here on those nasty stone steps outside, all right?’
‘What did you think of her?’ Scott asked as they walked back to the car.
‘I think she’s straight,’ Paula said. ‘I should think Glenys is a cow to understudy and she wouldn’t have minded sticking a foot out and tripping her up, but she doesn’t look like someone who’d plan an elaborate scenario with hoax phone calls and accomplices, does she, honestly?’
Scott’s instincts were the same but he was reluctant to abandon this line quite so easily. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Get those alibis for Wednesday morning checked out, and then we’ll see.’
11
SUNDAY 26th SEPTEMBER
If she be so abandoned to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
It’s all coil at home this morning: Ellie has heard nothing from Tom Urquhart and is weepy and irritable; Freda is starting a cold and alternates grizzling and tantrums; Annie, deprived of the distraction of farewells now that all have departed but those waiting for the start of the outrageously short Oxbridge terms, has realised that she’s scared as hell but is too proud to admit it and is sublimating her fears in biting sarcasm directed towards her nearest and dearest.
And me? How am I, you ask? Well, I intend to go out this afternoon, leaving them to the washing up and their own salvation. I was really interested, you see, to find David Scott at the back door of The Duchess of York’s Theatre yesterday. He evidently thought the Amy Robsart connection was worth following up, but I’m not sure it will have got him anywhere. He’s flailing about, it seems to me, and he has the advantage of all kinds of information I don’t have. He’s been to Charter Hall, for a start, and now I need to go there if I’m to be of any use.
I know what you’re thinking: you’re wondering why I have to be involved at all. Why aren’t I leaving it to the professionals, you want to know. You remember Eve’s words – “Stop talking to people. Stop thinking you know better than the police. You don’t” – and you agree with them, but you have to admit that David and his team have got off to a spectacularly witless start, suspecting Ellie of all people of being involved in this horrible business. I can’t be expected to sit here watching old films on the telly this afternoon while Ellie’s job – her whole career in fact – hangs in the balance because of the idiocy of the boys in blue. So, I have to go
to Charter Hall.
It won’t be easy to get inside, I realise. The family have obviously been moved out but I remember from the time we had a violent death on the college campus that the scene was guarded and under wraps for weeks. I need an excuse for being there, and I have, in fact, found one. Earlier this morning, I came across Ellie weeping over a pile of school folders. I assumed that the tears were because she doesn’t know whether she will ever be in a position to return these projects to their authors, but when I attempted reassurance she cut me off. ‘This is Marina’s,’ she wailed.
I took the folder and looked at it. It had THE ELIZABETHAN THEATRE stencilled very carefully in gold pen across its blue cover and inside it was mainly pictures. I recognised their inspiration: they were sketches of the costumes worn in Amy.
‘What am I going to do with it?’ she snuffled.
It sat there limply in my hands, both poignant and pointless in the way the belongings of the dead are: freighted with significance and devoid of purpose both at the same time.
‘Her parents might want it,’ I suggested.
‘No! That’s really morbid, Ma.’
‘No, it’s not. If it had been you or Annie, I’d have wanted to have your books.’
‘Are you sure?’
Am I sure? I really have no idea. My imagination refuses to stretch beyond the narcotic haze that I hope some medic would put me into.
Ellie looked at me for a moment, then said dismissively, ‘Anyway, you’re not normal, Ma. You can’t expect other people to feel the same as you. ’
‘All the same, I think it’s the best thing to do with them. Then they can decide if they want to keep them.’
I swear all this was said in perfect innocence, with no ulterior motive, but then I had a light bulb moment of sorts.
‘Have you got any of her other books?’
All the Daughters Page 10
